Octoberwatch
by roads-go-ever-on
Summary: Tricks and treats! You prompted, I responded. This is a collection of reader-given prompt-fills, all in the Halloween/October spirit. One-shots, introspective pieces, action, humor, angst, fluff: you'll be getting whatever you've asked for here!
1. Fareeha Festivities

**A/N: October has finally arrived!**

 **To get into the spooky spirit this year, I opened my inboxes across several sites (AO3, here, tumblr, etc) to Halloween/Autumn themed prompts from you folks, and you have certainly delivered! I have written up a few already, and I'll be working through more as the month progresses. Some of these one-shots will be longer and more in-depth than others as inspiration sees fit, so don't be surprised to see a chapter of 4k that is suddenly followed up by a 500 worder. A lot of these are wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am'ed out here, too, so you'll likely see some quick turnaround on a few. All inboxes are still open, so if you have more prompts, feel free to send them to me or leave them in the comments on this collection throughout the month!**

 **We're kicking off the season with one of the prompts that absolutely melted my heart right off the bat here, courtesy of Psychromaniac:**

 _ **Fareeha wants to have fun on Halloween, but there's not a lot in the way of celebratory Halloweeny stuff to do on base. So Ana has to improvise.**_

 **With that, let Octoberwatch begin!**

* * *

It's a Thursday, and Ana is holding her daughter to her chest as she ignores the buzz of the phone in her pocket. It's been twenty minutes since she left and her voicemail is almost full.

It takes too long before she finally, _finally_ makes it to the main road and stops. They hadn't followed her this far, and she _knew_ they wanted to help, but (it's _her child,_ and _he's not here anymore to-)_ she didn't care. She couldn't care. There was nothing they could do, nothing they could _say_ that could help her now. A gaggle of children bustles past her, and she watches them go, her face blank as they rush by. The sun had begun to set in earnest some time ago, and the little group tripping past her in their excitement are not the first batch of troublemakers she's seen sprinting down the sidewalks at this hour. There's a pile of cardboard boxes on one, a crude imitation of an omnic at play. The others, she can only guess.

Ana Amari holds her daughter closer as she shifts in her sleep against her shoulder, and she walks.

It's the last day of October, and Ana Amari takes the first steps into her new life, whether she's ready for it or not. They're steps in the wrong direction.

(She turns back a day later and is welcomed with open arms. His are not there. Her daughter had not left her own once.)

* * *

It's a Saturday, and she hasn't slept in at _least_ two days. The pulled muscle in her shoulder still throbs, but the recruit she'd saved from a nasty fall in the field would no doubt claim it was worth the pain. They'd been low on biotics when they'd returned, and she'd willingly passed the chance up to save them for the kids who truly needed them. They'd lost more of their own than they'd taken down, those two days ago. The knowledge hurt more than the muscle ever would.

The couch cushions feel like _heaven_ beneath her, but the pillow she's dropped over her eyes does little to block out the reason for her _current_ lack of sleep. Granted, it was a reason she would never think to ignore.

"Mama, 'm sleep _too._ "

Fareeha is four, and Zurich still has no idea what hit it. They'd known her all her life there, and she's single-handedly managed to charm the living hell out of almost all of them. Not a single veteran on base could say they hadn't been dropped into babysitting duty at some point in time, and not one of them could claim they hadn't enjoyed it, begrudgingly or otherwise. It took a village to raise a child, certainly. But it took a battalion the size of several international state-of-the-art peacekeeping facilities to raise an Amari.

Ana does not remove the pillow from her eyes, but lifts her pilfered blanket from her waist and pats the cushion beneath her back at her daughter's (demand) request. Fareeha had been with Wilhelm all morning in an attempt at giving her mother a chance to rest, but it didn't strike her as odd that she'd given the man the slip. Again. It had probably been during one of their frequent rounds of hide-and-seek. She'd have to remember to tell him to find a new game next time.

"Up you get," Ana murmurs wearily, ceding the battle before it even begins. There was no arguing with her daughter these days, and if she actually wants to sleep, then Ana isn't about to pass that opportunity up. There is a moment of scrabbling as Fareeha's tiny hands fight for a grip on the fabric, and then the telltale dip in the cushion that announces her success. A huff of air, and a gentle, warm weight settles in against Ana's side. The throw blanket drifts back down to cover her completely, and the giggle that it provokes is muffled as Ana buries her face in the hair on the top of her daughter's head. Even her flowery shampoo couldn't mask the smell of chocolate. Reihardt never _could_ resist giving her the odd sweet here and there, but today, she'd let him get away with it.

It's October 31st, and Ana Amari wonders if it ever gets easier. It's not the first time.

(She stops wondering eventually. The answer has always been in front of her, and denial is not fit for a soldier.)

* * *

It's a Wednesday, and Ana hasn't laughed this hard since Liao lost Gabriel's bet their first year as higher officers and had to cross his eyes for the entirety of their meeting with the board of directors. Her daughter, her beautiful, _strong_ little girl, does not seem to appreciate the reaction.

"Don't be _mean!_ " She shouts, the scandalized tone doing little to stop Ana's laughter. But the choice of word is enough, and she forces herself to quiet down. _A mother first, an audience second-_

"I'm sorry," she says, careful to sound earnest, "but you must admit it has some…flaws."

Fareeha would shift uncomfortably if she could. But the mess of papers and choppy fabric she's cacooned herself in don't allow for much more movement than the amount of shuffling it took to get her here. The pop-up base of operations her mother had been stationed in was in California this time, and she barely knew their temporary lodgings well enough to struggle her way down the hall to plant herself firmly in front of Ana in the living room, eyes pleading for help.

"I _know,_ " she practically whines. Ana has to fight not to snicker again.

Fareeha is six, and while her mummy costume was excellent in theory, the practice was not so well executed. Ana had warned her to wait for her help, but if there was one thing Fareeha wasn't, it was patient. Ana hasn't quite lost her smile, and she sets the holo screen aside as she stands, twirling a finger in the air to get Fareeha to spin on the spot.

"It's not fixing itself. Turn around."

It's the day before Halloween, and Ana's work is not getting done anytime soon.

(It's the third and last time Fareeha has ever gone trick-or-treating on the streets. The pop-up base is all but blown off of the map within the next four months. The airstrike occurs three weeks after they'd been re-stationed to Colorado.)

* * *

It landed on a Monday that year, and Fareeha Amari was having a very, _very_ bad day.

She knew not to expect anything by now. This wasn't the first time she'd been on base for a holiday, after all. And sure, there were the few odd decorations here and there, but this wasn't exactly the kind of holiday that had everyone dropping everything to spend time celebrating. She would approach this just as she had last year: as a mature, rational grown-up.

That didn't stop her from feeling somewhat _bitter_ about it all the same.

But if there was one thing her mother was good at, it was detecting just that.

Ana had only just entered their shared living quarters, but she had already zeroed in on where Fareeha was waiting, staring over the back of the couch at the door. Her captain's hat paused midair as she went to hang it on its hook by the door, her eyebrow climbing as she stared right back at what little she could see of Fareeha's face over the cushion. She was dressed in her full regalia again, clearly coming from an early, _early_ meeting of some import. It wasn't unusual for her to have meetings before Fareeha could even _think_ to wake up now. Decisions had to be made, she guessed. Anything that required her to put on _The_ coat seemed to be a matter of life or death these days.

The hat found its way to its hook, and Ana began to shrug out of the coat as Fareeha settled further down on the couch, her arms crossed over the top and her chin buried between them.

"What's wrong?" It's not much of a question from Ana, but there's a casualness to it that has never let Fareeha get away without answering truthfuly. That didn't stop her from trying all the same.

"Nothi-"

"Oh, _no_."

Ana emphasized the _no_ as much as she physically could as she made her way to the couch, and she didn't give Fareeha a chance to try speaking again. As it was, Fareeha barely had time to scramble out of the way as Ana draped an arm dramatically over her own forehead and marked a steady descent onto the couch cushions.

"My own daughter, attempting a _mood._ I may never recover-"

Fareeha didn't so much as giggle as Ana flopped down beside her. Her mother was looking at her upside down now, but she seemed to notice the lack of reaction even from the odd angle, as she sat up on her elbows a second later, the crease between her brows appearing.

" _Katkoota_?"

The nickname did little. Fareeha simply sat back against the armrest, her arms wrapping around a pillow as she rested her chin atop it.

"It's the end of October again."

Ana sat up in full then, slowly turning to pull her legs up beneath her as she met her daughter's eye.

"It is," she said quietly, her arm coming to rest atop the back of the couch. She already knew the insinuation Fareeha was making. This was not the first time this conversation had been had, after all. "But before you say anything more, I've found us some pumpkins for tonight. Luis offered to cook the seeds after cleaning them for us." She paused, gauging Fareeha's face. "Is that alright?"

It wasn't much. But it's what she could _do_. The fact of the matter was that war did not stop for something as simple as a holdiay. What a different world they might have lived in had that been the case. Ana still had responsibilities, Halloween or not. If they needed to have The Conversation each year over, she would.

But this time, there was no conversation to be had. This time, Fareeha set the pillow aside and stood with a forced grin.

"Ok."

Ana said nothing as she watched her daughter head back towards her room. She knew that tone. She couldn't call her back now. She'd already put on her grown-up face, and she wouldn't respond anyhow. But just as she'd resigned herself, her daughter paused at the door, turning with some hesitation. Whether she wanted to speak or not, she blurted whatever was on her mind before she could stop herself.

"Iwasgonnamakethejetthisyear."

And with that, she ducked back inside of her room.

Ana's eyes remained on her door for some time after that. She had a meeting in the next half hour, and after that a string of sessions on the hour, every hour until long past the afternoon. Training to oversee, boards to be convinced, a budget appraisal plan to be rewritten-

She'd barely have time to herself before she'd be able to return home late that evening.

 _Ok,_ Fareeha had said _._

Ana stared down at the cushion for several long heartbeats in silence. Her eyes found Fareeha's door again a moment later.

No.

No, it most certainly was _not._

Ana's hat was on her head before she'd made it back out the door. If she was going to do this, she was going to do this _right._

* * *

Commander Gabriel Reyes was an expert at conveying _exactly_ what he was feeling in a single look. It only helped to have such a skill as a leader, and it was a trait most of the team was lucky to have. But none had managed to master the art quite so much as Gabriel. _You're out of line. Get your ass back to the group. Tread carefully. They know, get out._

Or, in this instance, _what in all everloving hell._

"Ana," he said, the disbelief already plain in his voice. She didn't let him continue the thought before she held up a hand, her own expression stern.

"Do not. You heard it right the first time," she replied evenly, refusing to budge an inch. "You're the only person I know capable of making it happen."

He just continued to look at her, the creases on his forehead multiplying as the seconds ticked by. It was clear he was busy, if the mess of cadets scattered across the field meant anything. He'd been overseeing combat training for most of the morning. As it was, Ana was two minutes from being elate to her next engagement by even tracking him down here. But the fact he'd even entertained this conversation _this_ far gave her a spark of hope.

"A fighter jet," he said, virtually nothing in his voice giving away his thoughts.

"Yes." The pause she took was long, but Gabriel always knew when she had more to say, and he was silent as he waited. She missed that about him in the field sometimes. They hadn't had a run together as a full team in months. "She hasn't had a Halloween in years. I'm not about to rob her of her childhood simply because she is stuck wherever I happen to be. And if I am not capable of providing something so simple, I… I can't do that to her."

His expression did not change.

She almost expects him to turn back to his work. To get that odd glint in his eye that had been appearing more and more frequently as the board encroached further on Overwatch's personal territory. To question her daughter, even, despite the fact he'd never once done it before _-_

But then, he blinks.

And his hand pulls up the holo screen he'd had open from his tablet when she'd entered, a short request for paint from whomever had it available already in the process of being typed up.

"Pick a color."

* * *

"And what makes ye think I'd have any here, hm?"

The sparks from Torbjörn's project abruptly ceased when Ana placed herself directly in his line of sight, her arms crossed. His blast shield kept his expression hidden, but she knew he'd recognized that she meant business. He'd be glaring right about now; of that, she was certain. There were two rules in his workshop: _stay out unless I ask, and if I ask, that's just as damn well._

But she's got an alarm buzzing in her pocket from a public appearance that she's cutting incredibly close to now, and this was supposed to take a grand total of five minutes. The appearance wasn't for another three, and she could make it across the base at a sprint in two if she needed to.

She was doing _just_ fine.

"You have four children of your own," she replies. "I know you do."

"Sure, sure I do, but not _here._ What good'd it do to keep it _here?_ Do y'see the little buggers running around? Try the mess hall, they might have a piece or two left after the rookies got in to it last week. _"_ He's diverting the question again, and she pins him with a look. He'd never been an easy nut to crack, but even as he went back to welding, seemingly done with the conversation, she dropped her ace in the hole.

"It's for Fareeha."

The sparks stop once again, but he doesn't raise the blast shield. He doesn't even move, his head still tilted down to the mangled mess of metal at his fingertips.

Ana returns to her office two hours and one slightly frazzled public appearance later to find a nondescript brown bag full to the brim with sweets.

* * *

 _And in four… three… two… one-_

"If we've covered everything, then, I am happy to adjurn this meeting. Keep up the good work."

The sigh of relief that swept the room of officers was silent, but the sheer release of tension it brought was enough to be felt twice over by everyone in the room. Jack hadn't sounded this tired in years, but his praise had been genuine. They'd all been grinding down to the gears for months now, following leads and scraping together funds from donors' pockets that had incredibly sensitive expiration dates unless they produced more results. Their PR had begun to circle the drain as of late, and try as they might, they couldn't seem to pull it back. Damage control was not a job Ana would have ever liked to have had, let alone _now_. Unfortunately for Jack, that job landed squarely on his shoulders.

The others had begun to shuffle to their feet, gathering the supplies they'd brought to the table nearly four hours prior. They'd covered a lot of ground in that time, but it didn't nullify the fact that they'd been there for _four hours_ already.

Ana was exhausted. She hadn't stopped running since seven that morning, and by her watch, she wouldn't stop for another few hours. But Gabriel had caught her eye on his way in to the meeting (ten minutes later than the last time, which made him a whopping thirty minutes late this time), and he'd simply nodded. _It's done._

It was worth the fatigue. Every damn inch of it.

And it wasn't over yet.

Before the others could make it to the door, she stood, her hands laying gently on the table in front of her as she rose her voice to be heard over the bustle.

"If I may-"

Every eye in the room turned her way then, the split second of dread in some impossible to miss. She couldn't say she blamed them. The absolute agony that was being let out of a meeting only to have to be called back in a minute later to cover something forgotten was somethng she wouldn't wish on any soul. But for now, she extended a hand, palm down in reassurance.

"It's not business, so please, don't concern yourselves. But I do have somewhat of a… let's say a _favor_ to ask of you all this evening."

* * *

"Fareeha," Ana called from the kitchen, "I need you to do me a little favor."

Fareeha looked up from the half-butchered pumpkin she'd been carving away at on the floor for the better part of the hour. Ana had brought it back earlier alongside the seasoned bag of seeds courtesy of Sergeant Luis, and Fareeha had settled in for a long, cramped attempt at carving. It hadn't been the most succesful, but she'd be lying if she said she hadn't been enjoying it. A holiday spent sulking was wasted, after all, and she'd learned to take what she could get.

Ana had started on the soup not long ago now, and the smell of the sizzling meat in the pot was enough to make Fareeha's mouth water. It was a special recipe, one her mother only made on special occasions. At the announcement that they would be cooking in that evening, she'd been a bit surprised. Ana's face had been worn when she'd returned from her work day, and although she'd changed into a festive, orange sweater, she still stood stiffly, as if her mind had not left her work behind. But the telltale smell of the soup made Fareeha's heart lift a bit all the same, and she sat up on her knees, brushing her palms across her legs.

"Mama?"

Ana didn't look away from the pot, carefully measuring ingredients as she worked her magic. "We're out of cumin, and I don't trust the canteen to give theirs up. Would you go bother Gabriel for his, please?"

Fareeha had already stood before she'd finished speaking, her shoes slipping on as she reached for the door.

"Anything else?"

"That man will demand it back with a ransom if we ask for more. Best be safe and keep our requests to one."

Gabriel's room was not far, per say, but the walk was by no means a short one. The hallway was lined with doors of other ranking officers, and she never went without bumping into someone who wanted to greet her. By the time she reached his door, she could feel her stomach rumbling. The thought of the stew brewing back the way she'd come had gotten its fangs deep into her appetite, and no amount of exchanged pleasantries was helping that.

He answered on the third knock. He didn't appear surprised to see her, but Fareeha wasn't concerned. She didn't visit as often as she used to now, but he was still well accustomed to her gracing his door now and again. He gave her a short once over, a lopsided frown on his face.

"Ree."

She nodded, expression as serious as she could make it. If she didn't know Gabriel these last few months, she'd have said the corner of his mouth twitched a bit at the sight. He crossed his arms as he spoke again.

"Dinner?"

"Mhmm."

"What's she need for this one."

Fareeha extended her hand. "The usual, please."

He waved her inside as he made his way to his own kitchenette. His quarters did not feel quite as small as Fareeha and Ana's shared rooms, but their kitchen was by no means as well equipped as his. It was common knowledge that if you needed something to cook with, you asked Gabriel first. If you were on good terms with him, of course. Otherwise, his supplies were practically _sacred._

The little bottle of spices dropped neatly into her hand, and she'd already turned to take her leave with a _thank you_ on her lips when he planted a hand on her shoulder, turning her on the spot.

"Slow down," he muttered gruffly. "Got something else you need to take her."

She blinked up at the large box he scooted away from his table, but obediently stretched out her arms all the same, balancing the package neatly. It was lighter than it looked, and she leaned around it to look up at him curiously.

"What is it?"

"Nosey."

It had been meant to be a reprimand, but the gentleness with which he steered her out the door negated it entirely. She'd made it a few feet into the hall before he called her back one last time.

The candy bar he placed on top of the box before tapping it twice and turning back inside was entirely unexpected.

"Happy Halloween, kid."

 _Huh._

 _Alright, then._

She had to kick lightly at the door for her mother to open it when she finally made it back down the hall, the box blocking her way. Ana peered down and around it at her when she answered the knock, seemingly unsurprised at the package.

"Cumin?"

"Uh huh. A lot of it," Fareeha joked, jiggling the box meaningfuly. Ana humored her with a twist of her lips as she plucked the box from her arms and placed it on the couch, taking the small bottle of spices back to their rightful place at the counter. Fareeha turned the mysterious package, itching to open it herself.

"What's inside?"

Ana looked up at the question, but turned back to the stove. "Open it and find out for me, would you?" If she was trying to sound casual, she was failing miserably. But Fareeha didn't need to be told twice. The box was open before her mother had finished speaking.

And Fareeha stared.

Blue.

There was _so much blue,_ and if she was seeing what she thought she was seeing, it was her _size_ -

Gently, more gently than she'd ever held anything in her life, she lifted the helmet, the light material (some sort of styrofoam? It was foam, surely, but it was painted so _beautifully-)_ hardly any weight in her hands. It was a visor, the pointed beak of it remniscient of a-

Ana glanced up from her pot, the scent of seasoned vegetables and spiced broth warming Fareeha from the inside out for entirely different reasons now. She had changed when Fareeha had last run out, loose sweats joining her festive sweater, and she appeared more relaxed now than she had been the entire day. When she saw Fareeha holding the costume, she blinked.

Her mother had a _horrible_ poker face.

"Huh," she said, the nonchalance terribly fake, "what's that?"

Fareeha grinned slowly, slipping the helmet over her head without a word. It dropped on easily, a perfect fit to her features, and she ran her hands over the smooth material with a feather-light touch.

"Thank you, mama," she said quietly.

"What for?"

Ana kept her face carefully blank as Fareeha struggled into the rest of the jet-suit, but the attempt at ignorance didn't keep the grin on Fareeha's face from growing beneath the helmet. She didn't get a chance to speak again before Ana continued.

"Hm. An interesting outfit," she said, leaning against the counter. "Best be leaving it on, seems like a long process to take it back off. But I do need some things from Liao and Wilhelm down the hall and around the corner, and it might require a basket. You'll want to knock on a few doors along the way, they might have been visiting others after the meeting tonight-"

And suddenly, there was a small, gauntlet-encased hand extended to her.

"Come with me?"

There was dinner on the stove and the oven was on, but it's said with such heartfelt happiness that Ana is tapping the spoon into the sink before she's even fully processed the words.

The soup is turned down to simmer, and Ana set the dishtowel from her shoulder on the counter as she brushed the heat from her hands on her pants. She crossed her arms, scrutinizing her daughter closely in that way that Fareeha pretended to hate but had always secretly adored.

"Well, if you _insist,"_ Ana said slowly. "Just for a few _errands."_

"I do," Fareeha persisted, holding her hand higher.

Her mother's wrapped around it not a second later. Ana scooped up a small bucket beneath the counter as she slipped her shoes on, batting the candy bar from Gabriel off of the couch and into the container as they passed the open box. Fareeha gave her a long, smug look from beneath her visor.

"Knew it."

"I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about."

The second they're out the door, Ana stooped low, sweeping her daughter easily up and onto her shoulders. Fareeha laughed, the little _woah_ of surprise it had elicited lost in the noise. Her heels bumped lightly against Ana's arms with each step, but she didn't seem to care.

"I can walk!"

"Fighter jets don't walk."

"Oh. Oh, _right-"_

 _"_ And you don't want to get lost."

"This is almost _home._ And jets don't get lost."

"Some do."

"No, they don't. See, Mr. Lindholm told me they have these navigational systems that the military-"

" _Katkoota._ "

"Mm?"

"The door isn't going to knock on itself, you know."

* * *

 **Side note: _katkoota_ is an arabic term of endearment meaning "little chick."**


	2. In High Spirits

**WowWhatALongUsernameIHave prompted:**

 **Tracer gets Winston to modify her chronal accelerator so that she can be intangible/invisible and generally act like a ghost. Chaos ensues.**

* * *

" _Trust_ me."

"Nothing good ever comes from that phrase. _Especially_ when it's from you."

"Aren't you the _least_ bit curious? I can name five off the top'a my head right now who've said they don't believe in 'em. Think of their _faces_ when they think they've seen one."

"…"

"You hesitated."

"…"

"You want to _know."_

 _"…"_

 _"Winston…"_

"One day. I'm giving you one day, and that's it."

"Oh, that'll be _plenty,_ luv."

* * *

Gabriel was all set and ready to die. He'd never been more certain of something in his life.

This officially marked his fourth all-nighter of the week. He'd gone for a little more than a week and a half on no sleep whatsoever and been fresh as a damn daisy when desperate times had called for it, but the work involved with these particular bouts of vigilance had been anything but exciting. Their last operation hadn't gone unnoticed, and he'd been cleaning up what he could as the board slowly closed their hands around his throat. It would be another two nights of no sleep at _least_ just to ensure they wouldn't gleefully apply pressure.

The canteen had been dark and silent when he'd entered, but the buzzing that had started the moment he'd switched on the lights overhead was already beginning to grate on his nerves. The upper cabinet opened with its telltale creak, and Gabriel stared blankly at its contents. They were almost out of coffee again. Not that it mattered much to him, really. Caffeine had stopped having an effect on him even before the SEP.

In all honesty, he wasn't sure why he was here. He'd gotten up from the armchair he'd been working from when the clock in his room had chimed three in the morning, and the next he'd known, he'd found himself in the mess hall. A simple change of scenery might have been what he'd been looking for.

Or an excuse to blow off the bigshots in his own private _up yours_ as he made them wait for their results _._

Definitely the scenery.

There were boxes of tea bags and loose leaf ingredients beside the nearly empty coffee can, and he rose an eyebrow, shifting the mess about. The bags tended to multiply whenever the Amaris rolled back into town. He hated the taste of them himself, but if the drink was warm, he supposed it would be fine for now. _Black, green, the hell is this one…_

The scrape of a stool on the tile behind him was louder than it rightly should have been in the quiet.

There was a time when his first instinct would have been to spin and face the sound. Now, he didn't so much as twitch. He didn't turn, didn't blink. Instead, he continued to rummage, his eyes firmly ahead. But despite the lack of reaction, his senses were on high alert, every nerve in his body jolting with energy at the noise. _Seven feet back, obstruction, ten stools, third from the left, shifted an inch, maybe two-_

It wasn't until it dragged against the floor again that he grunted an acknowledgement. "You're past curfew," came the short reprimand, "and by the sound of it, you know it." _Not that I give a damn._

Silence.

And then, a longer, _louder_ scrape of the chair on the tile, the noise grating at every fibre of his body. Gabriel's eyes rolled skywards as he turned around, a scathing rebuke already on his tongue-

-but it died as his eyes narrowed slowly, his mouth closing.

There was nobody else in the room with him. He'd switched on the overhead canlights alongside the bright CFL when he'd entered at some point, and while they didn't light the whole area, he could see better than most to begin with. The room was empty, and aside from a single stool having shifted significantly out of its order, there were no signs of disturbance. The canteen didn't exactly offer many hiding spots. There was no way he'd missed someone leaving, either.

But there was nobody _there._

He lost count of how many seconds he surveyed the empty room, his stance relaxed and the empty mug in his hand. There was nothing but the ticking of the clock for several long heartbeats.

He'd just begun to turn back to the cabinet when it happened again.

The stool scraped harshly across the floor in one quick burst, the legs catching on the edge of the counter and tipping the chair to its side in a horrendously loud clatter. It lay between Gabriel and the door now.

The commander had _barely_ crouched at the sudden movement, body jolting into defensive mode at the noise. But now, he simply stared at the downed stool, the mug still in his hand and the room just as empty as it had been when he'd last checked. And re-checked. And checked again, for that matter.

It took less time to break his eyes away from the object this time.

Now, they sought out a different cabinet as he shut the door on the tea bags quietly. Mug still in hand, he stepped over the toppled chair to open the door he'd searched for, reaching high overhead and shifting a significant amount of unlabeled boxes to the side. A bottle he'd confiscated from Captain Briggs' personal collection emerged, and he blandly read over the label.

It did about as much as caffeine, but under the circumstances, he really didn't give a shit.

His eyes did not shift from the task as he filled half of the mug, the bottle clinking lightly on the edge of the old porcelain. But when he finished the half-pour, he paused, his eyes tracing back to the downed chair.

Gabriel left the canteen with the stool on the ground and straight bourbon practically spilling over the mug's brim.

* * *

"I don't- _"_

"I'm telling you, if he didn't leave when he did, I'd have given myself away right then and there, I couldn't _stand it-"_

"He couldn't have not expressed _something."_

"Swear on my honorable word, he didn't give a rat's arse."

"…"

"…I reckon we might want to be a bit more worried about that, don't you?"

"I'm sure he's just… preoccupied."

* * *

Reinhardt was used to early snow. It wasn't uncommon in his corner of the world, after all. But all the same, the flurry that had passed in the night had taken most of the base (himself included) by surprise. It wouldn't be enough to call for an early winter, but it certainly shifted the idea of autumn further from their heads despite the three long weeks left in October. If another round of gusts passed through again, the last of the golden leaves on the trees surrounding them would be swept away entirely, shattering the image altogether.

He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, the heat from his face strong enough to be felt several inches away from it. It was cold, certainly. But the effort it took to shovel and salt the paths around the outer walls of the building was more than enough to have him blazing like a furnace. He'd volunteered to undertake the task earlier in the morning, and despite the shocked glances from the cadets usually in charge of such mundane chores, they'd agreed to his services.

In all honesty, he was bored out of his skull.

The task, tedious as it might have been, was just something to fill the hours with now. They hadn't sent him out for _weeks_ after the fiasco that had thrown his knee out in Greece _,_ and there was only so much _"gentle"_ training you could do before cabin fever took hold.

He planted the broad shovel in the ground, straightening to survey his work. He'd gotten the bulk of the pathways cleared (it had taken an awful lot of reassurance on his part that the panicking cadets in charge of said pathways were not slacking off, he was just quick to get a job done, he promised), and now found himself beside the secluded rose garden many of the higher officers spent their afternoons in when springtime rolled around. It was empty, now, the fountain in the center bubbling gently from the water pouring down the length of a stone woman's gown. The slow trickle of water was causing the small chunks of ice inside the basin to bob about lazily. Her arms were outstretched and glistening from frost, a gentle, loving smile on her face, the offering of peace readable from miles away.

Reinhardt was quite fond of it.

He'd been told it was modelled after a girl from Zurich. She'd assisted in the initial raising of funds to promote Overwatch's potential, back in the early days when the strikeforce had been but a mere concept. He never was told what had become of her in the end, but he had an inkling. There was a quiet sadness to her eyes that didn't quite fit the smile. The heat had cooled on his own face as he'd watched the empty garden, and he shook himself slightly, ignoring the twinge in his knee as the effort of the morning made itself known. Admiring the gardens wasn't getting the paths any clearer, and he dutifully reached for his shovel to pick back up where he'd left off.

His hand grasped air.

Turning with a frown, his eyes scanned the ground around him. He'd just had it. It must have fallen when he'd been distracted, then-

There was nothing. The shovel had simply up and disappeared. Furrowing his brow, Reinhardt slowly levelled his surroundings with a look. He _had_ just put it there. He _knew_ he had. He may have been aging, but he wasn't _daft._

Whatever further investigation he was about to commit came to a grinding halt the second he heard footsteps from around the corner of the building behind him. He turned, eyes narrowed and brimming with suspicion as the crunch of the footsteps stopped just out of sight.

"Hello?"

His call was met with silence, and he frowned, the sweat on his brow beading uncomfortably in the chill. Maybe they'd seen where the shovel had fallen and were picking it up-

The footsteps began again without warning then, and Reinhardt stared diligently at the edge of the building.

Nobody emerged.

And yet the footsteps continued.

Incredulous, Reinhardt backed away a step, eyes trained on the snow in utter disbelief. There was nobody to be seen, but there, plain as day, were footprints. The imprints appeared one after the other, heading slowly in the direction of the gardens, the gentle _crunch_ underfoot the only sound to be heard over the bubbling of water. They slowed further about halfway to the fountain, and then stopped entirely, as if their owner was gazing up at the woman in stone.

The next pair to appear were facing Reinhardt head-on.

There was sweat on his neck and a chill in his spine for an entirely different reason now, but he stayed where he was, staring down something that well and couldn't _be_ stared down. He'd been working too hard. The sunlight on the snow was playing tricks, surely. Or a prank, even. In poor taste, but it was possible-

But then the steps began moving towards him, faster now than before.

Shovel and knee be damned, Reinhardt was back inside and facing several incredibly confused cadets before he'd completely made up his mind.

* * *

"You gave him back the shovel, right?"

"Well, I would've if he'd stuck around. Didn't exactly expect him to run for it."

"He has a… an unfortunate history with the idea of spirits, you know."

"Wish you'd told me that sooner."

"I didn't know he was on your list for the day."

"When you say 'unfortunate,' you-"

"Seeing 'ghosts' isn't always an experience to be afraid of. Sometimes the urge to run from something you can't see is driven by something harder to process than fear."

"I… don't follow."

"There's a lot of ways to experience regret, Lena."

* * *

 _-which brings about the question at hand: if not us, who else? How many are needlessly left to fl-_

"Dr. Ziegler-"

Angela's fingers stilled over the keyboard. She didn't bother to look up before her eyes slowly shut.

"-I hate to interrupt, but I gotta ask. Have you seen-"

"Oh, good _Lord_."

"…well, no, but if you've seen him around too, let me know what he's been up to lately."

Angela had pinched the bridge of her nose before Jesse could finish the sentence, willing the headache she felt coming on to ease as her reading glasses inched up her face. They fell back into place easily as she lowered her hand, her eyes not bothering to go back to the screens on her desk. Instead, they pinned the man in her doorway with a short look.

"That's eighteen of you now," she said, voice tinged in disbelief, " _eighteen."_

For his due credit, McCree actually appeared confused at that. Granted, he seemed confused by most things these days. She couldn't say she blamed him. Blackwatch had begun to go topsy turvy on _all_ of them. She could only imagine what sorts of things he'd been forced to figure out in the thick of the mess.

"I, uh," he started slowly, "Eighteen-?"

"Something's missing."

He leaned against the doorframe, his weight shifting awkwardly. "Well, yeah, but that-"

"That's eighteen of you that have come to _me_ about something missing today," she interrupted, her readers finding their way off of her face as she folded them neatly onto the desk. It was true. She had no idea what it was about her that was currently attracting every agent that seemed to be losing something. And they weren't just cadets seeking her out. Ana's cowl, gone from her dresser. Jack's spare coat took an unplanned vacation to Lord only knew where, but why he'd thought to ask her, she'd never rightly know. Reinhardt could have sworn he'd left his glasses on his bed frame, and if he'd been slightly pale when he'd asked after them during his physical therapy session, he'd denied anything of the matter. She'd hesitantly offered him her own readers after realizing he'd expected her to know what had happened to them.

It was _bizarre._ And, quite frankly, beginning to get on her last nerve.

When Jesse made no move to reply, she crossed her arms on the edge desk, leaning forward as she spoke. "I appreciate… whatever thought you all seem to have for my organizational talents, but I assure you, I am not the one to be bringing all of this to."

He scratched at his neck sheepishly, not quite meeting her eye.

"It… ain't so much that I'm here for the thing that's missin'," he finally said, the words oddly forced, "and I get the feelin' it's the same for whoever else came this way. It's more the…"

Angela waited patiently for more, but when it was clear Jesse was struggling to find the right words, she uncrossed her arms and caught his eye firmly. "I have three requests to draft on private projects that will cost more than we were worth in our _prime_ , Jesse. Either tell me why you're here or let me work, please."

His shoulders rose and fell heavily as the breath left him in a rush. His wandering stare found the ceiling, and he muttered something under his breath before finally locking eyes with her.

"Well, Angie, it's the fact that my damn brain might be fried."

She was quiet for a moment after that little tidbit. It wasn't a long moment.

"And here I thought that went without saying."

Jesse shot her a look at her blasé reply, not bothering to so much as acknowledge the attempt at humor. "Look, it's not just me, the others'a'been-"

Angela would have chalked the abrupt pause up to another moment of vocabular indecision on Jesse's part, but a split second after he froze, she heard it too.

Someone in the hallway was screaming.

It wasn't the typical screams they knew too well. There was no pain, no rage, nothing remotely fitting of a soldier of their calabre. Angela knew those kinds of screams like she knew her own voice. She'd heard them in her dreams too many times to count. Back when she _did_ dream, anyways.

There was nothing in this particular scream but sheer, stone-cold terror.

Jesse was out the door before Angela could round the desk herself, but she was hot on his heels as he barrelled along. It didn't take long to find the source. If the scream hadn't still been going, the line of officers sticking their heads out of their doors would have been a sign enough on its own. The shriek had come from the elevator bank, and Jesse and Angela rounded the corner alongside four other higher officers at a run.

The scene was a perculiar one at best.

The cadet sprawled on the floor of the corridor was beyond terrified. She was scooting backwards across the tile, hands scrabbling as she pushed herself away from whatever it was that had frightened her to the point of physically bowling her over. The cluster of officers alongside Jesse and Angela seemed to take notice of the source just about when they did as well.

Jack's missing coat was dangling in the open air in front of the open elevator at the end of the hall.

There was nothing holding it up that Angela could see, and as she watched, the more she noticed. A pair of glasses, floating about face-height. Jesse's hat, tilted back and resting on virtually nothing in the air. The arm of the coat lifted, pointing distinctly at the downed cadet, drawing a renewed round of furious scrambling from the girl. The coat drifted backwards as it did so, floating easily into the elevator along with the hat and glasses, the arm outstretched and drifting silently as if on air itself.

Sergeant Breckenreid's pistol was drawn and fired just a second too late as the doors shut on the impossibility with a pleasant _ding._

It took far too long for Angela to shake herself out of her initial surprise, but she was crouching beside the trembling girl before the rest of the hallway had even reacted to the sergeant's gunshot. There was noise now (" _the hell was that-!")_ , surrounding them as the hallway descended into chaos ( _"get someone on each floor, now! Quickly-")_ , but Angela hushed the cadet quietly as she gently gripped her wrist, the racing pulse at her fingertips not slowing in the least as she muttered calming words.

When her eyes rose, they found Jesse, unmoved in the middle of the mess and his eyes still solidly on the elevator. The moment he felt hers on him, however, he shifted his gaze to her face. The nonchalant chuckle he gave her wasn't meant to waver, but she was certain tit did all the same.

"Good news, doc."

Angela raised a brow at him, and he cleared his throat as he tapped a finger to his head.

"Brain ain't fried."

* * *

"You did _what?"_

Winston was standing, the board he'd bumped off the desk at his abrupt movement rattling on the floor. He'd been running specs on a new security system with Athena for most of the afternoon, but she'd gone silent the moment the shot had been fired. He'd been up and ready to bolt for the sound, but she'd assured him seconds after that it had been a mistaken discharge. She hadn't had time to inform him just what that _meant_ before Lena had zipped in and slammed a hand on the chronal accelerator, instantly making herself tangible once more, the frazzled expression on her face instantly answering Winston's question. Reinhardt's glasses were still set askew on her nose, and Jack's coat had been tucked haphazardly under her arm alongside Jesse's hat, and-

"In my defense, luv, I didn't think they'd _shoot_ at _-"_

"That's the one floor they're _guarenteed_ to shoot! Lena, what were you _thinking?"_

"It's a bit of _fun,_ is all! A few scares for some laughs later, but that one just-"

Winston had already taken the coat from her, folding it onto his worktable as he motioned for her to sit down, a hand grasping for the tools he'd used earlier that morning.

"I'm calling it."

Lena hesitated a moment too long for his liking, but ultimately sighed, flopping into the seat across from him dramatically.

"I hate to say it, but I think that's fair, big guy."

"You get to inform them of what really happened up there when we're done."

" _What-_ "

"Do you really want them running around chasing an intruder that doesn't exist? One they think they can't even _see?"_

"…I mean-"

"That _did not,"_ Winston interrupted, twisting the faceplate off of the accelerator as he spoke, "call for an answer."

* * *

 **Heads up as well, I'm uploading another chapter of my zombie-roadtrip-au "Hitchhikers" in the spooky spirit. If you're looking for more Halloween-esque hijinks, head on over that way! And again, requests are still open!**


End file.
